Displaced 'verse: Sentinel and the Outlaws
by Vampykitty-kun
Summary: Pre-Reboot, alternate continuation. Tim retires from the role of Red Robin, primarily due to heath reasons, disassociating himself with the family that seemingly no longer needs him. Although he cannot fight crime running along rooftops, he refuses to be useless, and makes a name for himself following in Barbara's footsteps... whether the rest of family knows this or not.
1. Prologue: We have come so far

Can be read as a stand-alone story or apart of the ongoing story. It really doesn't matter

Tim Drake's story to the Displaced 'verse in the comic world. (As opposed to YJ).

Takes place directly after the end of the Red Robin comic series on goes on from there.

_-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_~ Prologue ~_

_-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
><em>  
>It amazed Tim each and every second of the day how far things had come in just a few short years.<p>

If you had told him back during his tenure as Robin that in the future things would be as they were now, that things would have changed so very much, he would have sent you on your way to a padded cell.

He never could have imagined, after how horridly things had started, that he would be living in a top floor penthouse with the Red Hood, playing Oracle to _their_ band of merry men, and women, instead of running across rooftops at Bruce or Dick's side.

That he would be pressed against Jason's side, tucked under his arm, with a cheek against the man's chest as they watched some old action flick he was paying little attention to.

If you would have told him anything of these things he'd have thought you crazy.

But now that was his reality.

He took pleasure in being cuddled up against the man's massive form, breathing in the strong aroma of leather, gun powder, and sweat that was Jason's own unique scent. He didn't care _how_ they got there, just that he was content with things as they were.

Even if Jason's choices in films were a far cry from his personal interests, he loved their movie nights, and found himself looking forward to them no matter how often or seldom they occurred. He simply enjoyed being at his side, knowing that for at least a little while, things were calm, everyone was safe, and that he could let his worry slip away for just a time.

Tonight Sasha was joining them, something that he had become accustomed to over time. The girl lay against the other end of the couch, draped over the arm with her feet atop Jason' thigh. He had grown to enjoy her presence early on much to his surprise. Their age gap was not very large, and they had some common interests. She had warmed up to him as soon as she had known where he stood in Jason's eyes. More surprising was how she and Pru had bonded over time, becoming just as close as Steph and Kara were; although he suspected that they were slowly moving towards the type of relationship Steph and Cassandra had built up.

They would likely never admit it though, so unless he caught them on feed one of these days, it would remain speculation… but that was a curiosity for another time.

Tim let his eyes drift shut as Jason's hand slipped into hair, carding through it gently, and he pressed himself closer, burying his face into the man's shirt.

No… he didn't care about how much things had changed, or how they had managed to get where they were, he was simply content to be where he was at that very moment.


	2. Chapter 1: Walking Away

He had not left Gotham… no, it was impossible to stay away from the dark crime riddled city he had called his home for so very long, the city in which he had made something of himself, flying along rooftops with a cape trailing behind him.

But he had left Bruce, left Dick…he knew well when he was not wanted, having spent years alone in a too big house with nothing but his camera and fantasies to keep him company.

Bruce no longer trusted him…

He did not trust himself.

Dick no longer needed him…

He should have seen that coming.

Should have seen a lot of things coming.

But he had not, and now that was all over and done with. He had moved on. Dick had not called in weeks, and Bruce? He had not seen him since the man left again.

It should hurt more, that he knew, but it didn't.

Red Robin had not been seen in Gotham for well over three months. Tim Drake was still in the public line of sight, despite having handed his rights to the company back to Bruce, and he was still hobbling around on his crutches, covering up an identity he was no longer using. Tam was not speaking to him, and Vicky Vale was having a field day with their cancelled 'engagement'.

He could care less.

He had also handed over ownership of the theatre to Bruce when he had sent the company files over moving into a modest flat within a mostly empty high-rise. It was secluded, private, and within a relatively safe neighborhood as far as Gotham went.

He had immediately put up a false wall, made a command center, set up his computer, security and surveillance systems, for even at the beginning of his seclusion he had had plans.

He had hacked Oracle's feeds. She would never know as he had covered himself so well, Having had a hand in upgrading her systems several times over the years, he had always had a back door to he world. No sense letting it go to waste- letting _him_ go to waste...

He was done. There was no getting around it, not really. He was unwanted within their unhealthy 'family', and his body would not allow him to continue for long. Had he kept it up, it would have surely been a death sentence. His immune system was weakened. His body unable to ward off infection like it had used to. Infection could become life threatening at the blink of an eye… and he was no fool. He body told a story of countless battles, deep, slow healing wounds and the scars left as proof. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He would have been dead within the year had he kept up with that lifestyle.

But… he could not stay away either. Vigilantism had become a part of him. He had given up _everything_ to help the people of Gotham…and _everyone_. Giving up on the city would be giving up on himself. He might as well just roll over right then and there.

But he wasn't needed.

Not yet.

Barbara was Oracle. _The_ Oracle, the 'Bat-family's' go-to person for information. They would never need _his_ assistance in that way, and it was just as well considering the rift that had come between him and the many members of the Bat-clan through one way or another.

But there were others, always others.

Vigilantes popped out of the woodwork at random, in Gotham, in other cities. It was a never ending vicious cycle, and not everyone had the pleasure of a team of finances, of _help_.

And help them he could.


	3. Chapter 2: Belonging

Four months into his new life, Tim had a reliable set up that he was content with, and an identity unknown to the rest of the Bat-clan.

He called himself… _Sentinel_.

It was blunt, to the point, and fitting.

He would have felt guilty had he needed to lie. But no one even questioned his absence.

Bruce, too busy with Batman Incorporated to do little more than check in with Alfred briefly each day.

Dick too distracted with Damian, being a mentor to the small angry child instead of his father.

Barbara, too busy carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Cassandra in Hong Kong, doing her best to follow in Bruce's footsteps.

And Stephanie… she was all too used to his absence, his silence, his avoidance of her.

The wounds were too fresh to handle her presence very long. In a world where he had lost everyone, faking her death, no matter what the intentions, without letting him in on it so he didn't have to mourn yet another lost soul, hurt deeper than she could ever imagine…

Initially, when he starting picking through select vigilantes, those he contacted were distrustful. It was not as though he had not expected it be as such at first, not at all. Anyone in their line of work was right to be suspicious of anyone they did not know personally, more so when that someone knew _everything_ about them, what they did, and where they did it. They had a right to be afraid. That information was classified… _precious_. But having that knowledge, and waving it in their faces, seemed to be the one thing that _made_ them listen.

And listening was really for their own good.

The rookie heroes that sprouted up at random were helpless. Most did not make the choice to enter this line of work, having come into powers after some freak accident, or through genetics. Very few were typical non-meta humans. Unfortunately, most of these people had no one to turn to in the hero community. Many hid who they were. Most were scared.

In some cases, he pointed them out to other heroes with similar abilities, matching them with a league member and forcing a rendezvous between the two, in which the worry fell into their hands, never knowing they were set up in the first place. He did not limit himself to Gotham. He could cover a much larger distance when all he had to do is sit in a chair working through ha network.

On the first of such cases, he had sent one teenager into the arms of Black Canary. A petite little thing, scared of her own shadow, terrified to open her mouth, and refused to speak all together all because if startled her shriek could make a room implode. From what he had seen, Dinah and Barbara were slowly but surely coaxing her out of her shell, putting a health glow and smile back on her face. Chances were good that in time, after she gained control of her developed powers, one Alexi Greenfield would be running with the Birds of Prey and Dinah seemed genuinely pleased to have a protégé of her own to care for, for once.

It had made everything he was trying to do seem worth it.

One of the first established 'heroes' he contacted had been a rough journey in itself.

Roy Harper-_Arsenal_, was a complete and utter mess, to put things lightly.

He was still very much hung up over the loss of Lian, and his conflicts with Cheshire, but at the very least he had made an effort to try and pull himself together, even if it meant substitution. He had managed in recent months to clean himself up, avoiding heroine and other such substances like the plague, but had become quite the alcoholic instead. Still, it was a safer alternative, and Tim thanked his lucky stars that he was not going to have to start from scratch with the road to his recovery. It was amazing how effective a simple pep talk every now and then was, even in his electronically distorted voice that Roy received. Apparently all Roy really needed was someone to talk to, someone who was not going to judge him for his past actions, or try to convince him that his new way of doing things was anything but right. Tim was a good listener, and he understood far more than anyone would give him credit for. He knew what it was like to lose someone, many times over, and he knew what it was like to want revenge for that loss and take it, even if he had chosen not to kill Boomerang in the end. Roy was also very much like Jason, whom he was already used to, fully believing that killing the uncontrollable was the only way to stop the death and destruction… and he was not afraid to admit any longer that they were correct.

It would never stop, not the way Batman went about things, he had come to accept that. But he also knew that for any of them to cross that line, it would break them, himself included. He did not have it in him.

For Roy, and for Jason, they had already hit rock bottom. Anything they did from that point on was their way of climbing out of their own personal hell hole. They could do what most others could not.

And with _his_ help, it could be done safer without innocent people getting caught in the crossfire, and without _them_ getting themselves killed in the process.

As such Jason was the second established vigilante he reached out to, and in turn, Scarlet as well.

Forming a minute amount of trust was incredibly difficult when it came to the Red Hood. Severe distrust came naturally to the man, and he was not one to readily accept help, from any source, let alone one who would not reveal his face or name. He perhaps had Bruce to blame for that, among other things.

For weeks Jason ignored the phone calls, the emails the instant messages. He trashed several disposable phones in the beginning, unbelievably frustrated that Tim's blank number kept managing to dial his ever changing numbers. It got to the point that Jason had chosen to forgo one altogether, until Tim had started playing with the pay phones. He had watched Jason become increasingly unnerved, until finally the man began listening, courtesy of the girl, Sasha. Tim had resorted to sending her the files, feeding her blueprints and security codes, locations of villains at large, petty or ruthless. When his information checked out, time after time, and the ease of their projects increased, he could see Jason's stubbornness gradually dissipate. Things did not always end in bloodshed, or death, but Tim would be lying if he said there were no casualties.

The trust wasn't there, not at all, but it was progress.

And that was all he could ask for.

With time, Jason finally began to respond to his messages personally. He was bitter, always hesitant, accusing…constantly asking him what his angle was, what he wanted in return, and adamantly stating that he wasn't obligated to do a damn thing for him just because he was giving out valuable information.

Jason never once believed that he did not want a single thing… but he did take advantage of what Tim offered up.

It had not been long after his start at all when Pru had shown up at his doorstep, or rather, when she had appeared on his balcony one night nearly giving him a heart attack…

He had not been sure if he should be impressed or unnerved that Ra's knew what he was up to even when Bruce and the others were in the dark. He settled on staying skeptical. He wasn't foolish. Ra's wanted him for his own purposes. He had earned the man's attention, and had impressed him by holding his own during a direct attack, something very few were capable of.

Ra's had released Pru into his care. Offered her up as a gift to end any bad blood between them as of late. His own little way of trying to get him back on his good side, opening up potential mingling in the future he figured. He knew he would never join Ra's al Ghul, but it would never stop the man from trying he supposed, and he was too potentially valuable to eliminate as well. Regardless, it was nice to see her again, and in the lonely little world he had built for himself, hiding his face and voice from those he spoke to, it was a relief to hold a normal conversation once more.

He was unsure of where she was staying, but she kept close, and seemed to turn up when he needed her most. He liked to think she was enjoying being free of Ra's commands, able to do as she pleased for the most part, whilst he occasionally sent her on a small mission of her own from time to time.

All in all, he was content with things as he pulled everything together.

He was taking baby steps, but slowly he was putting together his new world… and someday he might even come to enjoy it.


	4. Chapter 3: Never Intended

Two months after Red Hood and Scarlet began complying with his wishes, to a degree, Jason began to get increasingly volatile. He hated _Sentinel _with a fiery passion, and was not afraid to let that be known. Tim had come away from their 'conversations' more often than not with a raging headache after the man cussed him out so loudly he was sure everyone in a three block radius of the Hood could hear him.

This of course never once stopped Jason from using the information provided to him however.

He couldn't blame him for his behavior, not really.

Jason was a naturally cautious and suspicious person and from what he had seen over the years this had always been the case.

Jason was not pleased in the slightest that someone knew so very much about him. Tim was careful, only revealing that he knew about the Hood, not the man- the _boy_, which existed prior. Revealing anything regarding one Jason Todd would have Jason plowing through Gotham seeking Bat and/or Bird blood in an instant.

But Jason knew that someone was watching… watching at all times. That someone knew every last detail, every little habit, every trigger… and it terrified him, whether the man would admit it or not. He felt horrible exploiting things, but when it came to Jason, anything less would result in complete and utter dismissal.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim became ill one week, and spent most of each day curled into a limp ball within his sheets, with Pru tending to his 'charges'.

Sans Jason of course.

He ignored the Red Hood for the better part of the week, unable to pass that responsibility onto Pru (for one, he could not trust her to keep her cool with him) all the while cringing at the thought of hearing the man rage against him whilst he already had a steady unrelenting pounding in his skull.

To his shock, Jason contacted _him_ at the close of the sixth day of his absence, needing assistance with one predicament or another that he had gotten himself wrapped up in during his disappearance.

The Hood was under the assumption that he was merely being an ass, forcing him to break down and _ask_ for help… Tim could have laughed if it wouldn't have made his head feel like he were beating it against a brick wall.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Things returned to normal once he could will himself out of bed once more.

Not a single one of the vigilantes noticed the brief change in command, something he applauded Pru for as he made _her_ dinner that evening, before she set out for her own dwelling to sleep away the morning.

It had made his life easier, and his recovery smoother.

Rest was not a luxury he was able to take advantage of however, as plans surfaced along the opposite shore for a major drug shipment, one that would surely spill over into Gotham within a few days' time if he allowed things to hit the streets.

Clearly Jason's department.

Something the man agreed with him on for a change.

It was short lived.

"Ya know, one of these days, I'm going to find you… and I'm going to force you to tell me _everything_."

And Tim could only snort into the mic, hearing the distorted noise echo through the sound system.

"Getting tired of not knowing who it is that's tracking our every move. Bunch of bull, you fucking coward."

"_We all get tired Hood. Sometimes we just need to learn when to lay down and rest…let things be. I did."_ And with that, he had cut the transmission, too tired to listen to the man carry on.

In hindsight, he had not been giving Jason enough credit, as he soon found out…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Jason might not have been as great of a detective as Bruce, and had admittedly gotten around with more street smarts than anything during his tenure as Robin, but he was far from being stupid, and had learned a hell of a lot since his revival.

So he took advantage of what he had been provided despite Sasha's complaints to 'just let it go', or 'ignore him'. He showed her just how much he was _not_ going to listen to her by leaving at the crack of dawn while she was still dead asleep from their patrol just hours earlier, and set off for Gotham without her.

Why?

Because it was _always_ Gotham.

After that, things were not hard at all to piece together. After flitting across town, intimidating all the runners (who had tried desperately hard to forget him in his absence), and collecting Intel, there was no doubt in his mind that this 'Sentinel' was Tim Drake, computer genius, former Robin- _Replacement_, and as it seemed _former_ Red Robin.

Red Robin had not been seen for months, and Batman did not have any 'new' vigilante friends, so it wasn't as though he had just switched costumes again. When he thought about it, he really hadn't seen Red Robin in ages, the teen having been absent from every confrontation he had had with Dick-bats and the Demon spawn over the past year. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, because he had tried hard to _not_ think about his replacement if at all possible after their last run in (in which admittedly, he had gone a tad bit overboard, but had been in a _bad_ place at the time… for reasons) but now that it was on his mind it irked him. Red Robin had seemingly disappeared altogether several times over the past year and a half before vanishing altogether… and because he was not at all interested in familial chit-chat that would likely end with him back in Arkham, he hadn't the slightest clue as to _why_.

That _why_ carried in to several topics, such as, why assist him of all people? Why give him names, dates, locations, and evidence if eight out of ten times people ended up in a body bag? Why had Red Robin vanished… and why weren't Dick, Bruce, _anyone_ out looking for him?

And because he could not let it go, nor go back to pretending that he had no idea who was on the other end of those invasive transmissions, he did the only thing he _could_ do.

He tracked him down, watched, learned, and approached with every intent to beat the truth and explanations out of the teen.

But things rarely went down as Jason intended.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim Drake's routine was alarming, repetitive, and not at all what Jason had been expecting.

He had managed to track him down as a civilian with alarming ease. He was not hiding in the slightest; in fact, he even had to lose reporters on a regular basis as he drove through the city due to his Wayne family connection.

He had been alarmed to see the teen on crutches, handicapped, but ended up all the more confused when Tim would simply toss them aside once entering his home. After a bit of research, courtesy of the internet, he discovered that Tim had been shot. Supposedly. He wasn't sure what exactly had gone down but clearly it had not been _him_, otherwise he would be crippled for real. This did not at all explain his absence in the field, nor the complete lack of communication between him and the rest of the lot.

It was at this point that he questioned why he gave a flying fuck, rationalizing it as shear curiosity, and the need to put his fist through the teen's face for having the audacity to order him around with a snarky ass attitude.

Tim kept his curtains closed tight for the most part, limiting what he could see whilst he wasn't putting on a show for the public. His only visitor being some mercenary chick that was very clearly not Bat-fam, and might or might not be familiar…

After four long, uneventful days of stalking him, he had had enough.

He had to give the kid credit… it took him three hours to take down his security system and slip inside before it reset.

The emptiness of the apartment was unnerving. Too neat, too bare, too white… he had to suppress a shudder as he made his way through the halls and rooms, most looking seemingly untouched.

The only room that looked remotely lived in he concluded to be Tim's personal dwelling. Even then it was unnaturally tidy save for an unmade bed, an overflowing laundry bin, and a dresser top covered in… bottles.

Prescription and vitamin bottles that Jason did not like the look of. To make matters worse, other than standard penicillin and pain meds, he didn't recognize much at all.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He waited for Tim to return home against his better judgment. He had wanted to run after seeing the mass of the pills, suddenly not all too keen on finding out _why_ Red Robin had vanished from the rooftops, yet at the same time had not wanted to prolong the inevitable confrontation he would have with 'Sentinel'.

So he had sat cross-legged on the bed, boots and all, unable to bring himself to explore any further.

When the telltale sound of a key jiggling a lock sounded, he had made his way silently to the doorway, watching as Tim stumbled in through the front door, clumsy with the crutches, until he was able to shut it behind him.

And without even seeing Jason standing by idly, he let out a frustrated snarl and whipped the unnecessary crutches across the bare floor, pressing his back up against the wall as he tried to recompose himself.

Apparently the day Jason neglected to follow him around was the day something of interest actually went down. He could only roll his eyes at his own damned luck.

"And see, here I thought it was only me that has those violent mood swings. Someone tell _you_ what to do, and how to do it today?" He snorted, watching Tim flinch and stiffen as he looked up to see him leaning against the door jam.

"What are you doing in my house Hood?" He deadpanned, frown spreading further across his face.

"Nope. I'm the one asking the questions here. What are _you_ doing, rambling off in my ear, thinking you can sit there, boss _me_ around all secretive, and expect me to just go with it?"

Tim only sighed, and rubbed at a temple, feeling the ache of the weeks' worth of headaches creep back up upon him.

"Jason…"

"And what the fuck did I miss after my unplanned prison break? You- or rather, _Red Robin_, dropped off the map. Then you come up with all this shit. The hell's going on here?"

"It… it doesn't matter-"

"Bullshit. You dying Replacement?"

Tim paused, looking momentarily flustered, before giving Jason a questioning, confused look.

"Pills. You've got a dozen bottles lying all over the place, things I've never heard of, so I put two and two together. Evidently came up with _five_ judging by your face…"

"No… I'm not dying. Not right now anyway…" He muttered, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall and slipped past Jason, making his way towards his room. "You shouldn't just barge in and rummage through people's things. If you have misplaced anything-"

"I didn't, it's all where you left it. If you're not dying, where the fuck have you been, and what are they for? You don't strike me as the type to have some kind of whacked out addiction to something I've never even heard of on the streets."

Tim stared at him, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of saying what was on his mind, or possibly ignoring him all together, before he sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"I… can't do this, the rooftop patrols, drug and heist busts, the Arkham breakouts, any of it, not anymore. I could, but it… well, it would kill me. Sooner rather than later. My body, in its present state, would be unable to handle it for very long."

"I'm not following…" Jason frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, blowing at a bang in front of his eye in irritation.

He watched as Tim's jaw stiffened, and his brow wrinkled, struggling with his choice of words.

"My…spleen was removed. I ended up in way over my head several months back. I'm not even sure how I survived. I was pretty ripped open, and lost a massive amount of blood… when I awoke I was so shocked to be alive I thought he used the pit. Ra's, I mean."

"Wha-" Tim held a hand up to stop him before he could go off.

"I wasn't working for him- not _really_ anyway… He simply had access to more than I could ever hope to get ahold of, and he kind of forced his way into my plans. I was trying to find Bruce… knew that he was alive. No one else would assist me, believe me… But, he saved my life, even if I'm not quite sure how, even if my spleen could not be salvaged. I lived. Then I crashed his network and fled, but we're not getting into that right now. The point is, without a spleen this line of work is too risky. My immune system is shot, and any semiserious wound could cause my body to do a number of less than pleasant life threatening things. Meaning, I'm officially benched if I plan on making it to twenty."

Jason drew in a ragged breath.

"Then…why all this? Why not just walk away?"

"Could you ever walk away? If so, we wouldn't even be having this conversation, as you would have done it a long time ago, and I wouldn't have the scars to prove otherwise. This… it's a part of me. I can't let it go. Not completely. This is what I've been left with. Computers. Intel. Eyes."

"Why me? Why assist _me_, when you know damn well what I do, and how I do it?" he snapped, stepping forward.

"Firstly, you're not my sole client. I have slowly been building a network of outside vigilantes. But to answer your question… it's _because_ you do things the way that you do."

"…say again?"

"Jason… the way we- _they_ do things? It's not always the solution. Some of these people… they never back down. They keep pushing, and pushing, and hurting innocent people that have done little more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or have simply been the victim of association. How many people have died solely because no one could survive with their mentality intact if they crossed that line? Too many. You however, and a handful of others? You've already crossed that line. Been at your worst. You are willing to do what the others cannot, and you will do it whether anyone, especially me, helps you or not. But _with_ my help? Things can be done clean. No civilian casualties. No mass property destruction. Best of all? _You_ are safer, not having to take as big of risks, put yourself in as much danger." He stated confidently. " Killing is not automatic for all. The majority of the time I see you let your targets free. Fear still does a lot with the general population. You only kill when no other choice has been left. I've already lived under one way of doing things, seen the results, the good and the bad. Things will carry on even with me gone. If I can help handle the ten percent those methods neglect to work on, I will."

Jason stared, processing the mass of information that had just been thrown at him, watching Tim's face for a wavering that never came. After a moment, he sighed, reaching into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. He pulled one from the package with his lips, lit it without breaking eye contact, and took a deep drag.

It was Tim that broke his gaze, moving to step away.

"You've changed."

Tim paused, hand on the doorframe, before slowly turning and meeting is gaze.

"I haven't changed. I just stopped _pretending_…" and with that he entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind him leaving a stunned Jason behind.

When Tim resurfaced half an hour later the man had gone.

He wondered how this would change things…


	5. Chapter 4:

Jason flinched, back pressed flush against the brick as the bullets pelted the wall, his body only just out of reach as the clay shattered and blew off in chunks around him. The cloud of dust resulting from the mass destruction clawed at his throat and he resisted the urge to gag as his heart hammered within his chest.

His helmet was already history, lost early in the fight when a not so stray shot clipped his temple, sending crimson metallic shards digging into his flesh. The sweat rolling down his face burned, but he could do little more than messily wipe it off with a swift lift of his sleeve.

He couldn't even be sure of when- _how_ it had all gone so wrong, and yet he was praising himself all the same that he had benched Sasha the night before when she had landed poorly and sprained her ankle. The mess he had landed himself in surely would have been the death of her. All things considered, she was still a rookie, although she trained with fervor and was eager to please. As is, it was looking like it could very well be the end of him, if he didn't think of some ingenious way out, and soon.

He braced himself as he broke away from the wall, tucking and rolling as he dove for new cover, a better angle, not that one truly existed when he was surrounded and vastly outnumbered.

It had been stupid really. Beyond it. Rushing off into the warehouse district alone, uninformed, in pursuit of an up and coming crime lord without the proper intel, without knowing the layout of the area. He was angry with himself more than anything, having become too accustomed to Sentinel- _Tim_ planning out his nights, too reliant on it, but more so… he felt pathetic. He had been angry, beyond frustrated that the teen thought that _he_ was suddenly in charge of him. That he _needed_ him, when he had been fine on his own for years, and he had been perfectly capable of accomplishing what he set out to do.

And yet…

Had he not shut down all his coms, obliterated his phone, and ripped the transmitter out of his helmet in a fit of Sentinel induced rage all before deciding to storm out on this ill-advised escapade… had he just _waited_, accepted advice… well, then _maybe_ he wouldn't be running for his life, praying he had enough ammo to cover himself just long enough to think of a way out that would not cost him his head.

He came out of the roll firing, blasting off shots in any which direction as he ducked and bobbed, forcing his lungs and legs to cooperate despite their fatigue.

And just as he thought he might just make it out alive, that there was a _chance_ that he would break free of the maze of buildings…. It was all over.

He was tumbling and skidding across the pavement well before he felt the fire erupt within his thigh. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs upon impact, whilst the cement chewed at the fabric topcoat of his suit. He landed all sorts of wrong, slamming both his bad knee and his shoulder without catching himself, his guns skidding well out of reach. There would be no retrieving them.

He knew the shoulder was dislocated even before he forced himself to move. His pulse went skyrocketing as he finally managed to suck in that first sharp breath. He could hear the men approaching, hollering as they reloaded, while he struggled to get his feet beneath him. By the time he brought himself to his knees he had painted a gruesome scene upon the pavement, the blood bubbling from the entry wound with each muscle movement, whether voluntary or not, was _everywhere_.

For a moment he forced himself to swallow back the hysteria bubbling up into his throat, the flashbacks that threatened to break free with the pain and sight of his blood splayed across the bare concrete. He forced his body to rise, one arm limp at his side, his injured leg protesting and threatening to give out from the pain. Running was no longer an option…

He was _fucked_.

But he'd be damned if he was just going to lay there on the ground and go down without a fight, without some sort of dignity.

Which he was apparently not allowed to keep long…

At once he was surrounded, being forced back onto his knees before he could even manage to lash out, with a rifle pressed against his bleeding temple. There was a fist in his hair, twisting painfully to force him to meet their gaze, and without realizing it he held his breath as his heart thudded within his chest. He paid little attention to what left their mouths, refused to grace them with information, nor his pleading as they jabbed at him with the barrel. One man made the mistake of crouching down before him, and in what was likely to be his last stupid move, he spat in the brute's face and sneered, earning a fist to the face that sent his nose gushing.

The grip in his hair tightened further as his head was forced back, and as he heard the safety release he was determined to stare death in the face and laugh at it.

And all at once, just as he was going over stupid shit he regretted over the years in the back of his mind, the screaming began…

The men before him dropped to the ground, clutching their legs, their shoulders as they hit the pavement. Men were firing wildly at the shadows, at the rooftops, panic setting in as no source of the attack could be seen and yet the shots just kept coming. Jason was left kneeling shakily in the puddle of his own blood, fighting the urge to flatten himself as they scattered, seeking shelter from the shots coming from the darkness. He wasn't sure what to expect, what was happening, only that somehow someway a miracle had arrived bearing a silencer and one hell of a shot.

He was not expecting the figure that dropped from the shadows, cloaked in thick black kevlar padding and armor, to come rushing towards him. But mostly? The last person he was expecting to come to his aid, suited up, heavily armed, and aggressively dangerous…was _Tim_.

Sentinel barreled down the drive, clearly in luck as the majority of the gang had fled, and much of who had stuck around had little choice otherwise with their injuries, leaving very few to incapacitate by hand. All Jason could do was gape, watch in awe as Tim moved, striking out with more force and precision than he had ever witnessed come from the teen in his days as Robin. Tim had left his post, the safety of his command center apartment, and had entered the fray to save him. He had put on a suit far heavier than he was accustomed to just to ensure personal safety, fragmented immune system and all, and had come out of retirement guns blazing, risking his life just for _him_.

And it made him feel all the worse for his stupidity the same time it sent a thrilled rush through his system.

Because this? _THIS_. All for him.

The teen was damn good shot, had to be, for although several were bleeding and down for the count, every last one of them would live to see the light of another day. They sported mere flesh wounds, injuries that were only to eliminate them as threats, give him time. Maim not kill.

Still… he doubted he would ever forget the sight, even as lightheaded as he was.

Because, just… _wow_.

Jason was not at all prepared for Tim to slam into him, forcing him upright and running in one fell swoop, despite his leg protesting the weight. Tim had a tight grip on him around his waist as they bolted, and Jason was never as grateful he wore a domino under his helmet as he was now as the teen wrenched a handful of small steel balls from a pouch and whipped them behind him.

_Flash grenades_.

Very effective.

Lens filters changed automatically, and them being the only two left with their vision intact, escape was easy thereafter, leaving screams of blindness, and sobbing groans of pain in their wake.

They were unable to get very far with Tim's smaller frame holding most of his weight, but far enough that the gang would no longer be a threat, and they stopped for a breather down a blackened alley where they bled into the shadows. It was a cold enough night that their panting left puffs of steam in the air, and he could barely feel his oozing thigh anymore as Tim leaned him against the stone wall of the building. He looked frustrated, perturbed even as he frowned up at him, giving him a once over. He moved briskly as he felt his way up Jason's sides, fingers pressing firmly at his ribs as he skimmed over muscle and bone as he worked his way upward. He couldn't suppress the flinch that resulted when the teen's gloved hands hit the injured shoulder, and he bit his lip to suppress the snarl that itch to break free as result.

"Dislocated?" He was prompted.

"_Clearly_."

"Hn…"

And he had little warning before Tim had ahold him with both hands, wrenching and popping it back into place with a jolting snap that left him ranting like a sailor. Stars danced behind his lids as he hissed, the throbbing pain dulling as the seconds passed, and the feeling came back to his numb fingers. By the time his vision cleared and he began to focus once more, Tim was busy down below, crouched between his knees as his body tremored. He only hoped he wasn't going into shock.

The teen wrapped gauze in and around his wound, packing it tight, and wrapping a belt up above to slow the blood flow. Tim was pulling him forward to curl back around his shoulders the moment his stamina returned, hoisting up the majority of his weight off his lame side, and at once they were plowing back through the streets.

The trip back to Tim's flat was long and arduous by foot. With an arm slung around Tim's shoulder, and the teen's arm around his waist, they hobbled in the shadows through the chilly Gotham night, moving at a pace that worked for them both.

They arrived after nearly an hour had passed…

They landed awkwardly, taking the line from the multi-level parking complex across from Tim's flat to the balcony. As things stood, the fire escape stairs would have been murder, and far more effort that it would have been worth, but shudder the landing sent through his body had him clamping down on his lower lip.

He paid little attention as Tim shut his security system down and pried the balcony doors open to drag him inside. He was deposited in a kitchen chair almost immediately after they entered the residence, relief washing over him in waves as he was able to finally relax, to a degree.

The teen ran off briefly, returning just as quickly as he left, with one hell of a medical bag in hand.

A duffle really…

He wasted no time getting to work, much to Jason's displeasure.

"Bullet unfortunately did not go straight through. I'll have to remove it. Missed the bone and major arteries at least… lodged in muscle. Relatively quick recovery." Tim sighed, dropping the bag at his feet.

Jason watched as he crossed the room, rummaged through the cabinets, and returned with a bag of ice and bowl of hot water before setting them on the table and dipping gauze into the steaming liquid. He went to work on his face first, making sure his nose was not actually broken, and that every sliver of red helmet left his flesh. The antiseptic burned something fierce, and the tweezers sent jolts of pain through his nerves, but leaving just one piece embedded in his flesh would be a thousand times worse.

He should know…

His jacket was pulled off his shoulders gently, slowly, and the armored top followed leaving him in his undershirt as Tim rubbed gingerly at his agitated socket and placed the bagged ice atop it.

"Remind me to never _actually_ get you angry…" Jason snorted, an avoidance of paying attention, earning a sharp look. "Guess you've never really taken me seriously. Our fights haven't been nothin' like that."

"_Jason_-"

"I mean… guns. _Guns_. Didn't think you actually had it in you. Don't think _Daddy_ would approve." He sighed, cocking his head at the teen.

Tim furrowed his brow as he sucked in a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and crouched down before the older man as he pulled his heavy boots off his feet.

"…I haven't sought Bruce's approval in a _long_ time now."

And that was the end of it.

Jason leaned back in his chair as Tim worked to remove the gauze padding and belt he had fixed upon his thigh earlier, eyes shut lightly while the adrenalin faded, and blood loss caught up with him. The teen offered no further conversation as he tossed the blood soaked square sheets and crumpled balls aside, taking care to not pull at his skin.

He cracked one eye open when Tim let out a exasperated sigh, and had little warning before his long fingers were briskly unlatching his belt and holsters. He opened his mouth to protest, eyes wide with shock, only to snap it shut almost as quickly as the teen began yanking them open, and down off his hips. He grunted instead, thrusting his hips upward to allow him to yank the waist down past his knees, gently over his wound, all to pool onto the tile floor at his feet.

"Bet you're pretty glad I wasn't running the streets commando right about now…" He snickered, a lewd grin stretching across his face as Tim froze briefly, turning a fascinating shade of crimson. "… or perhaps disappointed. Either or." He shrugged, leaning back flesh against the chair.

Jason gripped the edge of his seat as Tim mopped up the caked on dirt and semi dried blood off his leg with a rag, frown and blush seated firmly on his face.

He had always hated repair jobs, whether at Alfred's hands, or his own. He hissed as Tim jabbed him with a syringe, the numbing agent burning the feeling in his nerve ends away at the site, before he shot the saline down deep into the entry wound. More times than not he himself had forgone the lidocaine, opting to just get things over and done with pain and all, but rarely did he have access to it at the drop of a dime in the first place. Regardless, it wasn't long before the pain was an afterthought, and Tim was gently fishing out a hunk of bullet, and hunting for fragments. He watched silently as the teen worked, poking and prodding, flushing and pulling, until every trace of metal was found and removed.

Jason was in awe really. He wasn't sure how things had come to this… Tim leaving the nest, branching off on his own, running down thugs with guns ablaze just to save his stubborn ass… Wasn't sure what possessed him to track down the line teetering vigilantes- to track down _him_ of all people and not only boss him around and _aid_ him in his work, but treat him like… well, like he was human. Like he had never taken a knife or batarang to him, or beat him until he stopped moving, or treated him like he was less than dirt.

He didn't understand. Not at all.

But he wasn't complaining, not tonight, not when he would have definitely bit the big one with no grace or glory, all alone. No… this time he was definitely grateful, beyond it even.

Despite himself, he flinched as Tim pressed the curved needle into his flesh the first time, shivering as the teen went to work slowly with utmost precision. He ignored the process thereafter, instead watching Tim's expression change with each passing second, a fine distraction.

Third stitch in, Tim's bangs fell into his eyes, and all he was capable of doing to rectify the situation was blowing them away from his face every few moments as the strands obscured his vision.

Jason felt the corner of his mouth twitching.

He had to hand it to the guy, he never skipped a beat, and simply carried on. All the same though, he reached forward and ran his callused hand through the raven locks, pushing them back and out of his view. Tim paused, eyes never leaving the needle… but when Jason's hand never receded, he slowly returned to work, albeit slightly more on edge.

It didn't take long for Tim to start wrapping things up, the wound having needed more cleansing than stitching, but it hadn't stopped Jason's mind from wandering, trying to wrap his mind around the massive changes in the teen before him. Things just didn't add up, make sense… and he was pretty sure they never would.

Tim clipped the last of the thread and sighed, picking himself up off the ground. He stayed crouched briefly as he wrapped the sterile bandaging around the sutured wound in a thin loosely secured cover. Jason's hand slid from his hair as he rose the rest of the way up, bangs flopping back down into place as he kicked the bag of supplies aside and made his way back over to the sink.

Jason stared down at the leg, testing the muscle with a sigh, and let a satisfied smile grace his face.

The pain was an afterthought for now, at least, until morning.

He watched Tim undo the catches of his suit and drop the top half down around his waist with tired eyes, turning the water on steaming hot, and slip both arms under the hot spray drenched in liquid soap.

If asked later, Jason wasn't sure what possessed him to move, what made him rise from the chair onto staggering feet, just that the urge came over him, and he acted on it without much thinking.

Tim hadn't even realize it until it was too late…

The soap was nearly washed away when he reached the teen, shoulders slumped, and eyes blinking back exhaustion as he scrubbed. Tim jumped when he felt his presence, mere seconds before his hands appeared at his sides, rested upon the sink edge, boxing him in. He froze with his hands under the water, waiting for- well, _anything_. Anything except what actually came.

"_Thanks_…" Jason's breath was hot against his neck, voice whispering in his ear, and he could not help but shiver in response.

When he said nothing, yet Jason did not retreat, he stiffened, shutting the water off in one brisk movement as he spun to face the man.

"You were idiotic." He snapped, glaring up at him, back pressed against the steel basin.

"_Yeah_."

"You could have gotten yourself killed. _Would_ have gotten yourself killed!" He hissed, grabbing a fistful of tank top at the man's chest.

"I know." He agreed.

"And do you have _any_ idea what would have gone on as a result? Did you even stop to think about the risks of your actions? The consequences? What that would have meant to people?"

"Yeah… I was stupid…"

"Of course you… _what_?"

"Forgive me?"

It wasn't begging, nor was it demanding, but the situation itself just threw Tim for a loop. Jason had him pinned between himself and the sink with the most peculiar look on his face, voice low and unwavering, and increasingly much too close.

"_Jason_-"

If you asked Tim, he admittedly had never expected anything, _anything_ from the man before him, not after years of distrust, jealously, and spite. Not after the dozens of fights, painful injuries, and words that had cut to bleed. He had barely expected tolerance from the man, no longer the boy he had once cared for so greatly before his death and rebirth, and yet…

And yet his back was tight against the ledge, and Jason was close, much too close, chest now pressed against his own and a knee between his thighs. Suddenly it was impossible to breath… his pulse quickened, heart thrumming as he swallowed the lump in his throat, argument lost upon his lips as the man leaned in and nudged him with his nose.

"…_Tim?_"

His resolve crumbled.

For once, consequences be damned, he let himself go… indulge as he closed the distance _himself_ with a forceful crush of lips.

It was a downward spiral from there.

The two became all hands, squeezing, clawing, grasping for purchase. He ran his hands through the man's raven hair, clinging to the strands tightly as the other invaded his mouth, sliding their tongues together in a heated, breathless kiss.

He could have faded into oblivion without a second thought in that moment.

Tim's thighs locked firmly around Jason's hips as the man suddenly moved them, and they crashed into the adjacent wall, hitting with such a force that he gasped upon impact and a soft grunt left the other's mouth.

He couldn't say how or when they ended up in the bedroom, sprawled awkwardly across his bed in a tangle of limbs, rocking their hips, teeth clinking together as they frantically demanded more contact through one means or another.

For now Tim was content to forget everything but this- _Jason_ atop him, panting heavily as he rutted against him... _Jason_, with his hands skirting over his heated flesh, tugging the remainder of his suit from his form with hasty precision.

He gasped when a hand slid up the front of his top, blunt nails raking against his pecs, a rough thumb grazing a nipple. He arched into the touch, fingers digging into the man's hips as his own ground up against him.

Jason let out a soft laugh, muffling it against his neck as he traced the faded white line of scar with his tongue, letting him shudder beneath him before sucking at it greedily.

They shouldn't be doing this, he knew that… would regret it later, once the other man did, something of which he was sure of. But for now he could not bring himself to care, not as he keened, not as Jason groaned and slid his hand up his thigh to knead at a cheek.

He panted against the man's neck, eyes shut tight as he clung to his shoulders. He relished in the other's touch, moving with him, keeping up with the pace of his hips. It had been so long since he had trusted another to get remotely this close. Steph had been so _very_ long ago, and they had never quite gotten past some heavy petting before she had 'died'. Jason's touch was all the more foreign, and not at all unwelcome despite past circumstances, and future anxiety that was sure to come. He simply allowed himself to let go, lose it, find small comfort in the body he curled around as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

Their bodies were riddled with scars, some fresh, most from times long since passed and yet neither paid any attention, neither cared, nor questioned… and with that came no stress. He paid no mind to the stretch of dark raised flesh that had been the wound at his side, his normally invisible handicap, not even when Jason's fingers danced across it.

Their bodies slid together with ease, pillows and blankets scattered in all directions as they pressed and caressed, Tim fingers raking over Jason's spine as the man wrapped a hand around Tim's cock with a firm tug. He mewled against Jason's lips, still pulled into a breathy smirk even now as he rocked his hips, and curled his fingers.

And when Jason's fingers later pressed into him, Tim was no longer able to process any thought, any reason, any worry…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He hadn't expected to wake up to the man still there.

He had expected to open his eyes and have them settle on an otherwise empty bed then go on with life as though nothing had ever happened. But to his shock, Jason was still at his left, fast asleep with his injured leg wrapped around his thigh. He wasn't sure what to make of it… perhaps too much excitement for one night, blood loss, and sheer exhaustion playing a hand in it.

Regardless, he did not intend to dwell on it. It was a fluke, he knew that… heat of the moment, near death experience… an emotional overload. Nothing that meant a damn thing to the man. He was not going to kid himself thinking otherwise. His personal feelings for him, mostly resonating from times long since passed, played little part in the night before other than his willingness to let it all go and cling for a time… savor the fact that if only for a little while he was appreciated, _wanted_, and he could live with that quite happily.

Jason was in such a deep sleep that he removed himself from the bed with little effort and no worry of waking him. He showered and dressed with no change in the soft snoring sounding from the cluster of blankets still lingering within the bed. With a sigh he tossed his scattered suit components in the closet with little care, planning to store it properly at a later time, and gathered up the few articles of Jason's clothing laying crumpled on the carpet before leaving the room.

Seeing Pru sprawled out on the couch in front of the television probably should not have been surprising, but he paused in the door way all the same, receiving a curious look from the woman before he continued on his way to the kitchen. Prudence followed close behind, a hint of a smile on her face as he gathered up the rest of the man's gear in his arms.

"Would you mind doing a wash and patch job? I have… things to manage elsewhere today."

He was well aware that she wasn't the slightest bit naïve or stupid, that she knew he was merely looking for a way to avoid an awkward, potentially violent morning after, but all the same she nodded, and took the crumpled mass of armored clothing off his hands.

"What should I say to the Hood when he stumbles out of bed?" She inquired, nodding her head towards the door from which he came.

He drew in a deep breath, clenching his down as he let his lids slip shut.

"As far as I'm concerned, you don't have to say anything. Hand him his things, point him to the meds, and make sure he doesn't touch anything before he leaves. I recommend the elevator and rear doors. But knowing him he'll leave the way he came." He didn't bother turning to see her unimpressed look as he made his way to the front door. "I do not know what time I'll be back. If you feel the need to cook, leave something in the oven for me. Otherwise I'll be fine to fend for myself upon my return. I've already paged the driver… remember to lock up."

And with that he was sliding his crutches beneath his arms, and walking out the door, leaving her to herself.

Pru only sighed as the door shut with a rushed thud, and stared down at the pile of kevlar, denim, and cotton in her hands. She glared at the space Tim once occupied and drew in a deep breath shaking her head.

In all the time that she had known Tim, he had _never_ done anything half assed. Regardless of what the guy thought, or felt at this time, she doubted this… _occurrence_… would be any different.

Especially when the conflict at hand was the man passed out snoring within his bed. She was no saint. She had snooped plenty of times, seen the photos, the news clippings.

With a roll of her shoulders she set of towards the laundry room shaking her head.

Bats…

The whole lot of them were stubborn fools.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She was reading the Gotham Gazette when Jason stumbled out of the bedroom half delirious with the sheet wrapped haphazardly around his waist. The two locked eyes for a brief moment, the man frozen with the look of a deer in headlights before she let out a laugh at his expense.

"You look like something the cat dragged in."

"…who? _Where_- what's going on?" He stumbled over his words, blinking away the remainder of sleep as he scanned the room. "Seriously, _the fuck?_"

Pru found herself able to do little more than cackle as she rose from her chair and cocked her hip at him.

"Name's Pru. Tim's…_assistant_?" She questioned herself briefly before shaking her head. "No matter… He's gone. _Out_. Things to do, people to see. I'm sure you understand…" She drawled.

In her opinion, his gaping said otherwise as he squirmed in the doorway.

"Your gear is on the counter, freshly cleaned, and repaired. _You're welcome_…" She huffed, stepping past him. "Aftercare, _to-go_, is beside it. Amoxicillin, some pain killers, sterile wraps, etc. Wasn't sure what you kept in whatever _shack_ you frequent these days."

Jason's gaze shifted to the counter and back.

"I… I just- _yeah_... okay." He muttered, side stepping with the sheet clenched in one hand and he slid his suit beneath one arm.

He disappeared back into the bedroom for a time, leaving Pru to stand in the kitchen with her arms crossed waiting for his reappearance.

When the man finally resurfaced, he seemed lost as he stepped into the room, eyes flitting around until it dawned on her.

"Boots are at the double doors. Doesn't like dirt on his tile or carpets…" She muttered, first pointing at the leather buckled boots on the floor mat in the corner, then to her own feet only clad in socks.

He blinked at her briefly before cautiously walking past her. He slid his boots on, propping himself against the wall, before Pru joined him. He stiffened as he met her gaze, and she rose a brow at him.

"Probably easier to take the elevator, but I suppose you'll be taking your leave here?"

He gave a curt nod, but said nothing as she sighed and stepped forward, disarming the system.

He stepped out onto the balcony, shivered slightly as the cool air hit him, and seemed torn for a time as he surveyed his exit options. Before he could change his mind she stepped forward and pointed to the right ledge.

"Easy access. Take the escape down one level, cross the ledge, take the pole down. Fast, painless, great shadow cover. Use it m'self often." She sighed, gesturing. "And a bit of advice? Get off your high horse. Stop complaining when someone's trying to do you a bloody favor. Don't be selfish. He's not done a damn thing except try and keep you and the girl from getting yourselves killed. Best try and keep an open mind from here on out." She huffed.

He didn't grace her with a response as he made his leave.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim returned fourteen hours later, long after the sun had set, barely still up on his feet as he dragged himself through the threshold, slamming the door and his crutches to the ground as he slunk across the carpet.

He said nothing to her as he passed, heading straight towards the bedroom, without bothering to check the kitchen. Pru gave a solemn sigh as she followed after him, and stopped the door shutting behind him as he made his way towards the bed, making her all the more glad she had taken the time to change the bedding after the man had left. Tim balled himself up within the blankets, never bothering to switch on the lamp as he pressed his face into the pillows, and she could feel her jaw stiffen as the frown on her face only grew with that action.

She perched herself on the foot of the bed, a hand resting on the slight swell of hip rising from the comforter as she gazed down at him in worry.

"Tim?" she prompted. "You alright?"

The teen was silent for a time, long enough that she nearly asked again, but a strangled whine sounded from the cocoon.

"…no."

She sighed pulling her legs up upon the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

To her surprise, a dry laugh came in response.

"It's not- not _that_…" he muttered and groaned as he buried himself in tighter. "I just… I'm not well. At all. Cold, sick, just want to sleep…"

"_Tim_…"

He could hear the accusations, the scolding in her voice, and he squeezed his eyes as tight as they could go as he willed the pounding in his head to cease.

"I know. I shouldn't have gone. Shouldn't have stressed. Shouldn't have… but not _now_ Pru, please…"

And she would not make him beg.

Instead, she pulled herself up off the bed, got him a glass of water, and brought forth the Tylenol.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim stayed in bed for days.

Had she not taken his temperature herself she would have thought it was just plain avoidance.

But alas, he truly was out of commission.

Though he had yet to really say anything, she knew what had caused it. A night out in the cold, a firefight that ended in blood and straining his body to carry a wounded soldier, and of course the stress that had followed, ending in him running around town the better part of the day against better judgment. Still, like the good friend she was (quite possibly the _only_ at the present) she let it slide, let him leave her ranting to his imagination.

She took over his duties like times before, feeding the intel where it needed to go, only disturbing Tim to run the occasional question past him.

She avoided the Red Hood and Scarlet altogether, not trusting herself to bite her tongue, and keep things civil with Tim bedridden as a result of the man's actions.

Still, it worked, for a time.

However, she soon learned her mistake when she was jumped on the fifth night as she was entering through the kitchen doors, and she was forced into a brutal wrestling match on the slick tile floor at the hands of a raging Hood.

It took elbowing him in the throat to get him off, and she rolled out of reach to catch her breath, and make distraction. He was ready to pounce again when she snarled, and whipped an oven mitt at his helmet, the soft projectile throwing him off just long enough to get a word in.

"If you wake him up Todd, _so help me_, I will string you up by the bell-end and make you eat your steel!" She hissed, pointing at the bedroom door.

Oddly enough, it seemed to make the rage die down some, and she was greeted with a scowling face as he pried his helmet off.

"In bed?"

She glared, her lip curling in frustration.

"Yes, that is where one normally sleeps! _Honestly_..." She sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. "While you're out sulking like a kicked puppy, he's in bed trying to become one with the blankets, sick as a dog, while I'm manning the bases. As is _typical_ when he's sick, which is often, because he's a ridiculously stubborn bastard…" she muttered.

Before she could protest, Jason was up on his feet, leaving her on the floor as he made his way to the bedroom. She clambered to her feet in a rush to pursue him, but he merely stood in the doorway, letting the light drift into the room just enough to see the ball curled within the center of the bed fast asleep, and she let him, peering over his shoulder instead. After a moment, he relented, and shut the door softly.

"Because I would have _lied_…" She rolled her eyes, turning her nose up at him.

"How the fuck should I know?" He snorted, crossing his arms. "How long?"

"Since he came home late that night." And she watched as he grimaced and clenched his jaw.

"Look…" he started, a new calm slipping nervously into his voice as he carried on. "Can I just- when he wakes up, just talk… privately for a bit?"

She could have said no, laughed at him a bit and sent him on his way with a boot to the rear, but she didn't. Instead she cocked her head, watched as he squirmed awkwardly, torn between agitation and embarrassment, and sighed.

"You know what? Fine." She conceded. "But you're not going to sit there like a lump on a log being a useless eyesore while he hibernates. _You_ can watch him. Babysit him. Feed him when he's hungry, and deal with his sickbed temper tantrums, _without_ killing him. And if _you_ survive while I'm gone, I'll give you the key codes to the doors so you don't have to bloody well give me a heart attack when you get all love-sick huffy with him." She sniffed.

"I wasn't- I'm not-"

"Save it for someone who believes you." She snorted, crossing back through the kitchen, making her way towards the double doors. "In the mean time? Start cleaning. Otherwise you're a dead man. If he happens to wake and leave the safety of his cave, come out here and see this mess- _those footprints_? God be with you..."

And with that she left him sputtering as she dashed through the doors and flung herself over the ledge of the balcony.

Little did she know that in leaving him alone with Tim it was going to result in never being able to get rid him again…


	6. Chapter 5

When Tim went MIA from Sentinel contact again he had admittedly been pissed. After waking up alone, and having to deal with some strange woman while naked and half delirious, the complete cease of contact had added insult to injury.

He was miffed, pissy, and hurt all at the same time, though he wasn't quite sure why considering their background together in the first place. He wasn't stupid. He knew that he had done some damage over the years, that he had kicked the shit out of the kid enough times to warrant dismissal, but all the same he had felt… _discarded_.

After several days of stewing on it, and Sasha pestering him about his bad mood, he had gotten downright livid. Despite his better judgment he had caved and had trekked out to hunt him down and quite possibly beat sense into him. _Again_.

And after seeing no sign of him on the streets of Gotham, he had sought him out at home base, only to encounter that same woman on Drake's balcony. Then they had fought, and before he could get any of his frustration out she had gone all 'mama bear' on him, and the next thing he knew he was alone.

Alone in Tim's house with the man in question out cold in bed.

And he was at a complete loss of what to do, because he sure as hell wasn't any nurse, nor did he even know where they stood at current.

He couldn't even be pissed anymore because of _course_ he had to be sick and bed ridden instead of ignoring him like he had initially thought.

With a sigh he returned to Tim's bedroom door, wondering how he managed to get himself all caught up in this in the first place, and entered despite how stupidly out of place he felt.

Tim still lay curled in a near motionless ball cocooned within his blanket fast asleep. He frowned as he approached the bed and yanked off a glove to brush his hand against the teen's forehead.

He was most definitely burning up, despite his lingering hopes that Tim was faking it, and this was all just a ruse. In which he could have lashed out, but _no_, such was not his luck.

He sighed, unsure of where to go from there, and left the room.

He had never asked for this. _Any of it_. And while he could very well just up and leave he wasn't ready to cave in and run away. He was _not_ a kid anymore. This wasn't going away and having a temper tantrum was not going to get him anywhere.

It wasn't exactly as though he just fucked _anyone_. He was kidding himself if he said he didn't have some level of attachment to his replacement, as messed up as that might be, otherwise it would not have happened in the first place, and he surely would not have gotten pissed off enough to hunt him down if the apparent dismissal hadn't hurt.

Inevitably he had settled for banging his head on the wall in frustration before he caved and tossed himself onto the couch to read one of the many books on the far wall.

He would deal with reality later…

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Tim woke to the smell of food.

While that was a common occurrence, he was not so far gone to realize that _something_ was off, and he peaked his head out from the covers to glare lazily at the clock.

It wasn't Pru's cooking. He _knew_ her food, and this was food-food, not pasta, cake, or takeout.

He held on to the thought that Alfred had perhaps come by unannounced but it seemed very unlikely.

It was all very disconcerting.

He stretched and stumbled out of bed, shuffling as he struggled to free himself from the tightly wrapped blankets, and finally managed to drop them at the door without falling before he set off into the hall.

He was not at all prepared as he stepped into the kitchen where he stood gaping in the doorway in shocked silence trying to register the scene.

Jason stood at the stove, cooking food he most certainly did _not_ recall purchasing, wearing Pru's apron.

"Wha?" He muttered in confusion, and Jason simply looked over his shoulder at the sudden intrusion, giving a sheepish grin.

"Miss tactical gear put me in charge. Judging by your fridge, cabinets, and your cocoon, you haven't eaten in a while. Thought breakfast might be a good thing. Plus, I was starving and you had bacon- _the good shit_, but nothing to go with it. Ran to the store down the street."

"What?"

Sensing how incoherent Tim at least _thought_ he was, Jason sighed and hesitantly approached him, the teen still stunned and half awake, and draped an arm around his shoulder to guide him to the table. At this point Tim was pretty much convinced that Pru had given him an odd sort of medication, and he was tripping out while dreaming, but he hobbled along all the same. Jason sat him down despite his rigidness and turned back to the stove to plate some of the previously mentioned food.

When it was set in front of him, Tim only blinked, and stared at it worriedly, which earned him a half assed glare attempt.

"Eat the damn food or I'll tie you up and force feed you." He muttered, nudging the plate closer to him.

It earned Jason a peculiar look at Tim stabbed at his eggs until the teen actually took a bite and realized that it was in fact there and he was _not_ hallucinating.

To his surprise, not only was Jason legitimately in his kitchen, _in an apron_, where he had made him breakfast, but it was edible. Not just edible, but actually pretty damn good, which was saying something given the state of his stomach the past several days, and he happily ate more all the while watching the man out of the corner of his eye.

He had however underestimated just how drowsy he still was, getting up out of bed for the first time in two days, and half way through his unexplained meal he felt himself starting to crash. To his surprise, enough so that he dropped his fork, Jason came up from behind with an amused expression on his face.

"You're going to land face first in the remnants of your eggs. Possibly get syrup in your hair too. Would be such a tragedy."

And if Tim were not so woozy all of a sudden he might have lashed out for that last remark.

"I'm perfectly fine. Other than the fact that you are in my house- _how_ are you in my house exactly?" He muttered, picking his fork back up as he resumed eating.

"Snarky woman with some serious moves." He sniffed, and frowned when Tim's head bobbed briefly, nearly conking out once more.

He gave a frustrated sigh and snatched the utensil from Tim's hand, earning a squawk, before outright hefting the young man up into his arms. The teen flailed and shouted, slamming his fists into Jason's shoulder, which only earned a chuckle.

"I'm not a child!"

"Yes, yes, I _know_…" he sighed, shaking his head.

"…not some damsel in distress-"

"Definitely not." He agreed promptly. "But you're sick as a damned dog and ready to drown in your plate, and I don't think your Assassin chick would appreciate coming back to find you dead by my hand, albeit accidentally, and totally brought on by yourself." He rolled his eyes, and carefully dropped Tim onto his bed, tossing the covers over him.

Tim groaned, and draped an arm over his eyes, sighing in frustration.

"Not _fair_."

"Not in the slightest. You're the one sick and in bed. I get bored without you bitching in my ear. That or almost dead apparently." He laughed awkwardly. "Though I'd prefer it if we never mentioned that bit of stupidity again of course. Not my finest moment."

"You're such a headache…" Tim slurred, turning onto his side, where he pulled the covers up around his eyes.

Jason snorted and pulled the curtains shut to block out the sunlight.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

With that, Tim yawned, and huffed softly into his pillows.

" '_sides the point…_"

Jason froze in the doorway.

He tilted his head, staring at the shadowed lump, waiting for additional comment, but all he received was silence.

Tim was _not_ supposed to agree to his sarcasm.

Especially _that_ sort of statement.

As he slipped out of the room and gently shut the door behind him he found himself conflicted yet again.

The whole situation- this _thing_ with Drake, it was stupid. Foolish, and he should have just left things as is after he had his walk of shame that next day.

But…

He also couldn't help how his heart had stuttered with that mumbled agreement nor the flush that had risen to his face.

He was glad he had kept this visit from Sasha.

She would have never let him live it down.


End file.
